Wrong side of the Law
by The Fool's Hope
Summary: My tentative entry to the CHAS AU challenge... Lestrade is on to something, and Holmes is feeling a bit guilty about the girl. What will happen? yeah I don't really know either :P Now COMPLETE!
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: Well, after several days of writer's block I have finally managed to get something down for this challenge. The bad news is, what seems like a really good idea when lying in bed staring at the ceiling at three in the morning is actually not all that great an idea when sitting at the computer at four o'clock in the afternoon. So, I'm afraid this is not my best work, but I've already gone to all the trouble of typing up chapter one, so I might as well post it.  
Please don't hate me.  
I borrowed a name or two from BBC here... Other than that it's all canon or just off the top of my head.  
_**Disclaimer: I'm still not ACD, these guys are still his, etc.**

* * *

It was during the period after our misadventures with Charles Augustus Milverton which provided us with the most anxiety. As we were doing the deed of breaking and entering, of course, there was plenty of cause for tension, yet I remember it as an almost thrilling experience—we were, after all, on the side of justice, if not the side of the law. However, upon the discovery by the officials of the crime, and during the subsequent investigation, I was raked with uncertainty and a certain amount of guilt. After all, we had broken the law, and if our misdeed should be discovered the Yard would be well within their rights to arrest us both, regardless of the nobility of our actions.

It all began that day in our rooms in Baker Street, the morning after our brief foray into the criminal world. Lestrade had come to see Holmes about the case, in which, given other circumstances, Holmes would certainly have taken an interest. The interview was, of course, entirely informal on both our parts, as the inspector had no reason to suspect either of us. Yet during the time he was present I was distinctly uneasy, and at Holmes' offhand comment of "that might be a description of Watson!" I confess I started for a moment, though Lestrade did not perceive, nor did he notice the glare I shot towards my friend for drawing attention to the fact that I fit the description given.

"My sympathies are with the criminals, rather than with the victim, and I will not handle this case," Holmes concluded, smiling up at Lestrade in all innocence, his face betraying nothing.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, if you're sure… I suppose I shall have to bid you good morning," Lestrade said somewhat disapprovingly. "It's a pity, really… it looks to be a real puzzler."

"Oh, Inspector, I have no doubt that you can handle this one without my assistance," my friend said languidly. "Do tell me if you catch the culprits."

"I certainly will, Mr. Holmes," the inspector promised, and we said our good-mornings.

"Holmes," I admonished upon his departure, "Did you really have to—"

He smiled, shaking his head. "Come, Watson, it was merely a means to throw him off the correct trail. You noticed how he regarded the observation with some amusement? Certainly you are the farthest person from his mind to suspect."

"Even so, the man did have my description, Holmes. Suppose he were to recognize me?"

"Watson, I have no doubt that the mask was quite sufficient to prevent identification. In any case, I cannot conceive of any circumstances in which you would be brought face to face with your pursuer. No, have no fear, my dear fellow. I believe we have seen the last of this business, save the odd article in the paper." His brow furrowed in thought for a moment. "I cannot help but wonder…"

"What, Holmes?" I asked, after waiting for him to resume his thought.

He did not answer, nor did he speak much at all until luncheon, when he recalled the face of the lady we had seen, by which time I had reconciled myself to the fact that Lestrade would surely suspect nothing of myself or my friend.

* * *

By the next day I had almost forgotten my anxiety at the inspector's presence. I knew, and had of course known all along, that we had left no trace clear enough to incriminate us, and I was certain that we should hear no more of the matter. It came as a frightful shock, therefore, when Inspector Lestrade once again entered our apartments. I was seated at my desk, making notes on the very same case, and upon his entrance my first instinct was to throw my notebook someplace out of sight. Reason took over, however, and as we made our greetings I discreetly placed the offending article in my desk drawer.

"And to what do we owe the pleasure of your company, Inspector?" asked Holmes, as calm as always.

"Well, to tell the truth, Mr. Holmes, I'm here to ask you exactly what you knew about this man, Mr. Charles Augustus Milverton," Lestrade answered, and there was a singular quality to his tone which I could not quite identify.

Holmes shrugged. "I know that he was a blackmailer, and responsible for the ruin of several notable people and families," he replied. "Though I doubt that that is any more than you knew already."

Lestrade nodded. "It's a bad business, Mr. Holmes," he said. "It's a clear case of murder, premeditated, and whoever is responsible is in a good deal of trouble." He began to pace, slowly, spinning his hat brim through his hands. "Our only real suspect is this man Escott."

"Escott?" Holmes asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, William "Billy" Escott. A plumber, by trade, and quite friendly with one of the maids--a miss Agatha Smith. Apparently they were engaged to be married, but there's been no sign of him since the deed was done. I haven't really questioned any of the household about him yet, as the girl's a bit distraught, but I've no doubt our elusive plumber is behind all this. The only question is... who _was_ this man?"

"And do you have any clues?"

"None yet, but once I've questioned the household staff more thoroughly on the fellow I'm sure I'll come up with something to find him with," came the answer. Something in his manner made me decidedly uneasy--he seemed to be rather more nervous than was usual, and his statements were all rather pointed.

"I still wish you would take up this case, Mr. Holmes," he continued. "It would make things a good deal easier. As it stands, we only know that there were two men, who were extremely well versed in the art of lock-picking, and the vague description of one of them. And that the other fellow was tall and swift on his feet. And that could be a description of any number of men."

"As much as I would like to help you, Lestrade, I'm afraid you have already had my answer," said Holmes, with a small smile. "However, I do wish you the best of luck on your endeavours."

Lestrade heaved a sigh. "Very well, Mr. Holmes, very well..." He made to leave. "If you change your mind, however..."

"I assure you I will not. Good day, Lestrade."

My uneasiness dissipated as I watched the inspector get into a cab from my seat at the window. When I turned back to Holmes he was sitting as he had been, smoking, as though he had not a care in the world.

"I shall never understand how you manage to remain calm in such situations!" I exclaimed.

"There really is nothing to worry about, Watson," came his reply. "Lestrade is not the dimmest of men, I'll admit, but he is hot on the trail of Escott, and will probably see no further cause to visit us about this case."

"Nevertheless, Holmes, supposing we missed something!"

"Oh, do calm yourself, Watson," he said, waving away my comment with an easy hand. "Escott has vanished for good, and the two men in Milverton's rooms that night will remain vague, shadowy figures for all time."

I gave no response, but shook my head in wonder at the way the man could make light of the inspector's second visit. Another thought occured to me, then; I considered remaining silent, but decided it needed to be addressed. "What of the girl, Holmes?" I asked.

I saw a flicker of something resembling guilt flit through his eyes, but his expression revealed nothing. "It was a necessary step, Watson. I needed to know everything about the house, things I could not discover with my plumber's guise."

"She is distraught, Lestrade said."

He put down his pipe with a sigh. "I do regret that, Watson. She did nothing to deserve such treatment. I confess... I should, perhaps, have been gentler with her."

"You used her, Holmes," I pointed out, rather more harshly than I had intended. "And now she is left with what? A fiance who has vanished into thin air and is, to the minds of everyone around her, a cold-blooded killer, and in all probability she still has a lingering hope for his return. The reason for your actions was noble, in the long run, but what you did to the girl was a truly hurtful thing."

"Watson, believe me when I say that I wish I had done otherwise," said Holmes softly, in a voice much unlike his customary tone. I met his eyes in surprise, and saw the guilt that lay there.

And despite his faults, and his general insensitivity to the nuances of the fairer sex, I knew that my friend would never intentionally cause such distress to anyone, least of all a helpless girl. "I know, Holmes," I said finally.

He relaxed slightly at my words, but remained subdued through the rest of the day, his mind far from Baker Street. I have seen him in all possible moods, but I have never seen him dwell on something so thoughtfully, or with that peculiar lingering expression of guilt on his features.

* * *

I had decided to get some writing done that evening, while the facts of the case were fresh in my mind. Upon sitting down at my desk, however, I realized that I had left my notebook in my bedroom upstairs, and was obliged to retrieve it. I was returning to the sitting room when something gave me pause on the staircase, and I heard muffled voices through the closed door. With a start I recognized one of them as Lestrade, who was apparently speaking to Holmes. Unsettled, I half considered retreating quietly back up the stairs, but I grew curious about thier conversation and instead drew nearer to the door.

"...seems to have vanished into thin air," Lestrade was saying.

"Extraordinary," said Holmes in a bored tone.

"Now, I'm sure some men would have given up by this point, Mr. Holmes, but I decided to try a different tack." Lestrade paused, and I heard him shifting where he stood. "Do you know what we found in Milverton's pocket, Mr. Holmes?"

"Pray enlighten me."

"It was a note, apparently written by Milverton to himself. It was bloodied in places, but on it was the name Lady Eva Blackwell, and the figure £7000. A considerable sum, indeed. No doubt, I thought to myself, one of his victims." He paused again, and I could hear a distinct tremour of nervousness in his voice when he next spoke. "I had a talk with Lady Eva Blackwell earlier today, Mr. Holmes. After assuring her that I would reveal nothing of this matter to the public, she told me, somewhat reluctantly, of her dealings with this man. She mentioned your name, Mr. Holmes."

I could feel my heart racing at his words--surely, _surely_ he couldn't think...

"Would you care to tell me why I was not informed of your dealings with this man?" Lestrade asked.

"I had every wish to preserve the confidence between myself and my client," Holmes answered, and I will never understand how his voice betrayed not a hint of emotion. "However, since she has seen fit to inform you of the precarious position in which Milverton had placed her, I suppose there is no harm in telling you. I was engaged to negotiate with Milverton, to find the best terms suitable to himself and the lady. Unfortunately, he remained steadfast in his requested sum, and I was unable to be of further assistance to Lady Blackwell."

There was another considerable pause before Lestrade continued. "Here's what I see, Mr. Holmes. This man Escott--who has never been heard of outside the Milverton household--tricks a poor, helpless girl into revealing certain details about the house through flattery and an engagement. He and his associate--this moustached man--used the information to break into the house, murder Milverton, and destroy his documents. Now, there are several points which stand out to me. Escott clearly does not exist, and the name is an alias. His true identity would have to be someone with remarkable thespian abilities, who has had practice creating false identities. Now, from what I gather from the pursuers of the culprits, the pair of them moved through the grounds in a way that left no doubt that at least one of them had certainly been there before, or at least knew a great deal about them. What is troubling me, Mr. Holmes, is that I have just learned that you most recently had dealings with this man, and while you were, as you put it, 'unable to be of further assistance to Lady Blackwell,' I have never known you to give up on a case so easily." I heard the inspector start to pace, and I would be prepared to swear that I had stopped breathing. "The first of the two miscreants was described as 'tall, long-legged, thin, and fleet of foot.' The other, as you were so kind to point out earlier, does bear a remarkable resemblance to the good doctor. The lock on the safe was picked most ingeneously, and I have more than once, if you'll recall, declared that I was mighty glad you were on the right side of the law. I have seen you change your identity with a bit of makeup on a whim, and though I have not inquired after a firm description of Escott yet, from what I gather so far he bears remarkable similarities to the tall, long-legged man, who in turn bears a similarity to someone else."

There was a long pause, during which I heard neither man move or speak.

"Am I given to understand, Lestrade, that you are accusing myself and Watson of murder?" Holmes asked finally.

"No, Mr. Holmes," said Lestrade slowly. "I am not accusing you of murder at this time. I am, however, asking you if there is anything you would like to tell me."

"I have told you all I know on the matter, Inspector," Holmes replied.

Lestrade sighed. "Very well, Mr. Holmes. Then I shall take my leave." I heard him move towards the door, and I hastily retreated silently up the stairs. The inspector hesitated before leaving. "Charles Augustus Milverton was an evil man, Mr. Holmes. I have no doubt that he had many enemies, all of whom would love to see him dead. I am inclined to think that the criminals were not on the wrong side of justice in this matter. However, they were on the wrong side of the law."

Once he was gone I slowly returned downstairs. Holmes was sitting in his chair, and it only served to unnerve me further that his expression was openly worried, and he had not noticed that his pipe was unlit. "You heard, Watson?" he asked upon my entrance.

"Yes, I heard."

He sat lost in thought for some time. "I'm afraid I must apologize for dragging you into this business, Watson," he said finally. "A man of your reputation should not be put in this position and for that, my dear fellow, I am truly sorry."

"Holmes. You could hardly have kept me out of it," I pointed out. "I assure you, I would not have, nor will I ever, allow you to put yourself in such a dangerous position without me." I was not feeling nervous, as I would have predicted, but almost relieved, for what I had been unconsciously waiting for had finally come.

"Nevertheless, Watson--"

"Forget it, Holmes. Nothing you say can make me regret my decision to accompany you."

He gave me a fond smile, and I was pleased to see some of the tension in his face ease. "Good old Watson!" he murmured. "There are times when I truly wonder what I would do without you. Well, now that we are in it, I suppose we should take comfort in the fact that we are in it together." He stood and crossed to the fire, lighting his pipe with an ember.

"In any case, Holmes, it's as you said," I pointed out in an effort to cheer him up. "It's unlikely that Lestrade will be able to _really_ prove anything--our descriptions are entirely vague, and Escott has indeed disappeared for good."

Holmes did not answer for a long time, and when he did speak his words startled me to no end. "I'm afraid he may not have, Watson."

"I--what do you mean, Holmes?"

"I... I fear I may have to take a risk. If I am successful I will throw Lestrade off track, but if I fail... it will almost certainly prove his suspicions. I am sure that I am doing right, but I am not sure that it is worth it." He turned to me and took a deep breath before continuing. "If Billy Escott were to pay one last call on Miss Agatha Smith..."

"Holmes! You'll be taking an enormous chance--if you're caught, who knows what will happen? The entire household thinks you're a cold-blooded killer, they might just shoot you on sight!"

"I find that highly unlikely, Watson. My only scruples lie with you--If I am caught I do not want to take you down with me."

"You don't have to go, Holmes."

"I think it possible to set Lestrade on the wrong track with this visit. If he is given nothing new chances are he will never let go." He paused a moment, and then sighed. "And... I confess, Watson, I feel I owe the girl a bit of an explaination."

My jaw almost dropped at this declaration. I, of course, knew that Holmes was more than just a thinking machine, but he certainly did nothing to discourage the impression to others, and to hear this confession of guilt was rather uncharacteristic of him. "You want to make things right with the girl?" I said finally.

"You were quite correct in saying that I used her, Watson. I had my reasons, and I stand by them. However... I feel a bit more consideration should be given to her situation. She thought--well, she thought I was in love with her, and I used that to my advantage. The least I can do is offer her some last words from the man who lied to her."

I had known that Holmes' conscience was unsettled by this affair with the girl, but I honestly had not suspected that he had such acute feelings of guilt. However, his actions certainly warrented it. "If that is the case, Holmes, then I think you are absolutely right."

"Thank you, Watson."

This next part wasn't going to be easy. "However--"

His head snapped around, fixing me with a steely glare. "No, Watson."

"Holmes, it could be dangerous. And we're already in this together."

"Absolutely not."

"I'll just wait outside the wall, Holmes. If I hear trouble I'll be on hand to assist you, but you can clear up your business without me standing by."

"There will be no trouble!"

"Holmes, everyone there thinks you murdered Charles Augustus Milverton! You cannot say there is no element of danger, and if there is danger to you I want to be there."

"You are not coming!"

"Then you are not going!"

He had opened his mouth to continue arguing when I saw on his face the familiarity of the situation strike him, and instead he burst out laughing. "Very well, Watson," he said finally, clapping me on the back. "I should know by now that you cannot be dissuaded. You will, however, stand by what you said and wait outside the wall."

"Have no fear, Holmes. I have no wish to intrude upon you and your fiancee."

I recieved a glare for that comment, but it was well worth it. "Tonight seems best then, Watson. I know the habits of the household well enough, I think, for us to arrive undetected. This will be a most unusual venture for us, old friend--instead of hunting criminals, we are the hunted. However, if all goes well the matter will not be a complicated one."

Through my acquaintance with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have learned, if nothing else, that matters rarely turn out to be as simple as he says they are.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: First of all, apologies for the late update. I've been busy pulling little innocent children out of the paths of speeding buses and stuff, and in no way wasting all my time playing tetris. Nuh-uh. Not me. _

_Thanks so much to you awesome reviewers! You guys are so supportive! I really love this fandom! -happy tears-  
This next chapter gave me a lot of trouble. First, I just couldn't motivate myself to write it (although I DID get into the top 200 on the online tetris game! (I was number 200). Then I was trying to avoid cliches, but they just seemed to keep on coming :P I had thought out the plot ahead of time, and was really getting into it, with big dramatic fight scenes and rooftop chases and damsels in distress; then I rememberd that this wasn't _Zorro_, which totally broke my flow. In the end I think I managed to keep the story from running away with me, but... there are still some holes in the plot. If you happen to see a big one, tell me. Chances are I didn't notice it, and if I know how to fix it I will do so. If I don't know how to deal with it I will find a way to deal with it, but it will probably involve aliens.  
Again, I took a couple names from BBC. The characters' personalities, however, are of my own creation. _

**Disclaimer: Is not necessary, because I AM ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE! THESE CHARACTERS ARE MINE, AND I CAN USE THEM WHENEVER I WANT TO! SO THERE! I'm also kind of a liar...**

* * *

It was near ten o'clock that night when we found ourselves once again outside the grounds of the late Charles Augustus Milverton. I was more than a little apprehensive, for it was likely that Lestrade had left a man in the house, and in any case the servants were suspicious of Escott as it was. However, Holmes himself seemed confident enough that our presence would be brief and undetected.

He had explained his plan to me earlier, as we prepared for the night's ventures. "I plan to inform my former fiancee that I did not kill Milverton," he had said, when I had asked him how he was going to set Lestrade on the wrong track. "However, I was sent by a noble family to gain access to the grounds, so that when the time was right, I could lead my associate with a certain talent for locks into the house."

"And if she doesn't tell Lestrade?"

"Then I am a worse judge of her nature than I had suspected. But I think she will tell him. She is honest in nature, and would not wish to see me accused of a crime I did not commit--regardless of her feelings towards me once my true purposes have been revealed."

"I should certainly hope so."

"She will quite likely be ill disposed towards me, it is true, but she would not want to see an innocent man accused of murder. Of this I am certain. In any case, if Lestrade hears of our presence at all it will certainly throw him, for he would be expecting us to lie low."

It sounded to me like a terribly risky plan all around, but Holmes was correct in thinking that Lestrade would never let go of what he had without some new evidence to chase after. And I could tell that my friend was intent upon his mission, not only to clear our names, but to offer some sort of explaination to Miss Smith. I doubt that he would ever admit to it, but I was sure that it was more difficult for him to be the cause of a young lady's grief than to be a suspect for murder.

In what felt like no time at all we had made our way to the garden wall which we had scrambled over so frantically just a night or two ago. Holmes sprung to the top with feline grace and peered about. "All clear, Watson," he said, turning to look down at me. "I'll probably only be a few minutes."

"Holmes, how are you going to get the attention of the girl?"

"I shall wait. She always comes by this way at nights; I met her here often enough when--anyway, she'll be this way."

I couldn't supress a grin at his discomfort. "Very well, Holmes. But for heaven's sake be careful!"

"I shall be fine, Watson. If you need to get in for some reason there's a foothold about halfway up; it's easier. And if a policeman or someone happens along, run for it. Don't bother about me."

"Forget it, Holmes."

"Yes, I daresay I thought you'd say that," he muttered, but I could tell he was smiling. Then he stiffened suddenly. "I do believe this is her."

For a moment I wondered if he would lose his nerve, for he seemed more inclined to flee from the approaching footsteps than to go to them. But a moment later he had leapt lightly to the other side.

I heard him hit the ground, and a startled gasp from the girl.

"Billy? Billy, what are--"

"Shush, Aggie, please--"

"But Billy, what--Why are you--"

"For heaven's sake, Aggie, they'll all come runnin'!" I smiled to myself upon hearing the Cockney drawl he'd adopted as Escott, so unlike his usual voice.

She lowered her voice, and their words faded to a dull murmur. To this day I do not know exactly what Holmes said to her, nor what her reaction was. I considered asking him once, but thought better of it; he may never have had true feelings for her, but that did not change the fact that they had had a relationship, and whatever he said to her was to remain between them. Once in the conversation she raised her voice again, to say: "But did you kill him, Billy?"

"Oi didn't, Aggie, oi swear oi never did! Listen--" His voice lowered again.

I leaned against the wall and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. Somehow, for some reason, luck was with us tonight.

And then I heard a man's voice shout: "What the _devil?_"

For a moment I was paralyzed--that was it, we were caught--and then I heard the girl shout "Harry!" and I realized that it wasn't one of Lestrade's men but another workman. In another moment I was over the wall.

I landed somewhat unceremoniously on the lawn and scrambled to my feet. I first saw the girl, standing with he back against the wall, her eyes wide. Holmes was grappling with another man, who had apparently stumbled upon the scene. "You snake," the man was shoutinng, "you steal my Aggie away from me, you _use_ her to kill her boss, and now you're coming back?"

Holmes hit him solidly across the jaw, sending him sprawling, but before I could move he was on his feet again. He grasped a rock and with a cry of "You bloody _snake!_" crashed it into my friend's skull. I came from behind and was upon him in an instant, knocking the stone from his grasp, and I saw the girl run to Holmes' side. The man I was struggling with drove his elbow into my stomach, forcing me to loosen my grasp; I quickly turned my face away--thank heaven for a moonless night!--but he was already gone, running across the grounds for reinforcements, no doubt. The girl was helping Holmes to his feet, pulling him towards the wall. "Go on, Billy, get on out of here quick, before he brings the others!"

He glanced behind and saw me hurrying to join them. I saw blood running down his face from where the rock had connected with his head, but he seemed to be relatively unhurt. He turned back to the girl and looked directly into her eyes.

"Aggie--I am truly sorry," he said, sincerely and without a trace of cockney.

She gave him a small, sad half-smile. "I know, Billy." Then she motioned towards the wall. "Now go on, get out of here, both of you!"

I could already hear the sounds of voices from the darkness--confound the swiftness of their alarm! Holmes jumped for the wall, and I quickly boosted him over. I heard him crash into the bushes as I scrambled up after him, over that same grass-strewn coping which I'd crossed so frantically before, and landed once more in the bushes on the other side. Holmes pulled me to my feet and we ran once more.

* * *

We paused only after we were certain we had shaken off any pursuit, and I immediately pulled out my handkerchief and pressed it to Holmes' head where he had been struck. It was not a bad cut, and there seemed to be no concussion, to my great relief. "Who on earth was that, Holmes?" I asked.

"You'll recall I mentioned to you a certain hated rival?" he asked, smirking. "That was he. Apparently he had come to see Ag--the girl. I don't suppose he ever expected to see Escott again."

"Well, he certainly seemed ill-disposed towards you. You're lucky you don't have a concussion."

"We managed what we set out to do, at any rate," he said cheerfully. "Now stop that dratted fussing, Watson, I'm perfectly all right."

"You're still bleeding, Holmes," I pointed out, and did not remove my handkerchief.

He smiled at some private thought. "I wonder what Lestrade will make of this?"

"I daresay he'll come to tell us."

* * *

The next morning was dismal and wet. I stared out the window, looking down at the passers-by hurrying through the rain. Holmes was playing a melancholy tune on his violin, doing nothing to lighten the mood. At least it was real music this time. The cut on his head was healing nicely, to my relief, and his hair concealed it well enough that we needn't worry about explainations.

"Is that one of your own?" I asked after a while, partially to make him stop. As fond as I was of his playing, this was downright depressing.

"Yes it is," he said, with a quick half-smile. "Fits the mood of the day, does it not?"

"A bit too well, I think, Holmes," I said. "What abysmal weather... I'd hoped for some sign of the sun, but it doesn't look promising."

"I'm afraid it doesn't. I've heard that tomorrow promises fine, though. Perhaps you'll have your sun then." He started up again on his violin, this time playing a lighter melody, to my relief. I resumed my observation of the outside world, and was not the least bit surprised when a cab pulled up outside the house.

"Lestrade's here."

Holmes did not answer, nor did he pause in his playing. A moment later Mrs. Hudson arrived to tell us that the inspector was here for us, and I bade her show him in.

Lestrade entered nervously, spinning his hat in his hands, the water sliding along the brim and dripping to the floor. He cleared his throat anxiously and waited for Holmes, who had his back to him, to stop playing.

"Holmes--perhaps you should put the violin down for a moment?" I suggested sharply, once this had gone on a bit too long.

He desisted, and turned. "Ah, Lestrade," he said, as if just noticing the inspector's presence. "Any news?"

"Of a sort, Mr. Holmes, of a sort..." He cleared his throat again. "It would seem that I owe the two of you an apology, Mr. Holmes, Doctor. About the Hampstead case, I mean."

"I take it you have some new information," said Holmes, with a fleeting smile. "Any word on the identity of the elusive Escott?"

"Well, yes and no. The fact is, he visited the late Milverton's house last night. Apparently he wanted to see the housemaid to whom he was engaged."

"He went _back_ to the house? Interesting. One would think he'd be keeping his distance."

"Yes, well, that's what I would have expected. A certain Mr. Harry Logan swears Escott was there last night trying to convince Miss Smith--the housemaid--to run off with him. She says he was there to see her one last time, nothing more, but it does seem that Mr. Logan interrupted them before he was done speaking with her. He had an accomplice, too, but apparently they didn't get so much as a look at his face." Lestrade shook his head. "It was a deucedly dark night, after all, and when the other fellow arrived Logan ran to get reinforcements. If he'd brought my man around from the house in the first place they might not've gotten away."

"Instead he tried to apprehend Escott on his own?" Holmes asked, all curiosity.

"Yes, he did. Apparently he was engaged to Miss Smith before Escott came along; he was a bit sore about it. I brought them both in for questioning--Logan says he came upon Escott talking with Miss Smith and attacked him, but when Escott's accomplice came at him he ran to the house for backup, during which time they got away. Miss Smith told us what he said to her--that he was bribed by an unnamed noble family to learn his way around the house and grounds, so he could lead the lock-picker in later to steal the papers. She says they didn't kill Milverton, but he seemed to have omitted the little detail of who _did_. The footprints in the room where he was killed were too vague to make much of, but we did manage to match one of them to one from last night, before this blasted rain came down, so we're still certain it was him. The question is, who is he?"

"Of course, if you knew that, there would be no case," I said with a smile.

"Very true, Doctor, very true," Lestrade laughed. "I questioned both Logan and Miss Smith about him--Logan went on for a while about how he'd stolen the girl he loved, but as descriptions went his was lacking. All he could tell me was that Escott was tall and lanky, with brown hair. Miss Smith seemed reluctant to tell us anything at first, but then Logan intervened. 'He used you, Aggie,' he said to her, 'you've no need to protect him, he don't deserve it.' And I think he convinced her, because her master was dead, and she certainly wasn't Mrs. William Escott. Poor girl was right furious with him when she finally aknowledged that he'd lied to her--so upset she was, I think she wanted to see him caught. Gave us some details--perhaps they'll lead somewhere, perhaps not. Tall and lanky, like Logan had said, with brown hair. And apparently he has a birthmark on his throat, just above the left shoulder, and a tattoo in black ink on his right wrist. And one gold tooth, near the back of his mouth. Unfortunately, those characteristics aren't particularly helpful in finding him, but we have an accurate description--if he keeps on with his life of crime there's a chance he'll be caught someday." He cleared his throat again, and looked away. "So, ah, as I said, I fear I may have been--overly hasty in my conclusions..."

Holmes laughed and stood, reaching towards the mantle for his pipe. "Think nothing of it, Lestrade. I confess I myself was surprised by the remarkable coincidences provided by that case. Unfortunately, I am tattooless, and all my teeth are my own."

"Do you have any other leads?" I asked.

"No, I'm afraid not, Doctor," he replied. "The man had so many enemies, we'd never be able to question them all. His staff hated him too--Logan seemed almost as furious at Milverton for his treatment of Miss Smith as he was at Escott." He was quiet for a moment, then burst out laughing. "Would you like to hear what convinced me beyond a doubt of your innocence, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

"Do tell, Inspector."

"Well, I was asking Logan what he could tell me about the man's mannarisms, and he tells me of the first time he met Escott." I saw Holmes stiffen, ever so slightly. "Apparently he came across as quite a ladies man--certainly quite the charmer," Lestrade continued, still chuckling. "He started wooing Miss Smith just about the moment he laid eyes on her, practically--Logan was right furious when he was telling it, of course, but I could hardly keep from laughing--This Escott couldn't have been the most subtle of men--saying things like 'nothin' missing from _my _toolbox, you want to have a look?' I tried to imagine you saying a thing like that, Mr. Holmes, and I just couldn't. Not in a million years."

Holmes joined in his hearty laughter, but shot me a venemous glare the moment the inspector's back was turned.

"Well, I should probably be off, then," Lestrade declared, rising. "I'll be sure to let you know if anything more comes up."

The moment the door closed behind him Holmes rounded on me. "Not a word, Watson," he said, glowering into my smirk. "Not one word."

"I didn't say anything, Holmes."

"You were thinking it. Just... don't say anything."

I shrugged, still grinning. "Well, all's well that ends well, old fellow."

"Quite." He took up his violin and played for a minute, then set it down in favor of his pipe.

"Holmes," I said, after a long silence, "Why exactly did you want so much to return?"

He looked rather uncomfortable at this. "As I said, Watson, I merely wished to give Lestrade some new evidence that did not point to us--"

"And you wanted to make things right with the girl."

"You seem to be well in posession of the facts, Watson," Holmes said testily.

"I just find it interesting that you went to a terrible amount of risk for the sake of a girl."

He raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Watson, I do hope you are not suggesting I had inadvertantly fallen in love with her."

"Well, I certainly wouldn't go that far, but..."

Holmes sighed. "You are correct, Watson. I... Well, while I was not in love with her, I believe she was truly in love with me--with Escott. She poured her heart out to me, when we were together, and all I did was lie to her. I don't know precicely how to explain it, but--I feel that she trusted me, and while I was certainly unworthy of that trust, I could not let myself ignore the fact that she had trusted me. She did not deserve to be left hanging forever."

"It would seem you were forgiven, Holmes. She protected you."

"Yes, she did," he mused, his eyes distant. "Fabricating little characteristics that could easily be overlooked but that I did not possess. It certainly was quick-thinking of her. I did not truly expect to be forgiven, last night."

"So you did it for her."

"Yes, I did. And for myself, to alleviate the guilt I was feeling. And for you as well, I suppose, Watson."

I stared at him. "Whatever do you mean?"

"I saw how my treatment of the girl offended your sense of morals, Watson. While you understood the reasons for my actions, it still went against your nature. I thought that feeling would perhaps be alleviated somewhat by tonight's misadventures."

"Holmes, I--Well, I mean--What you did was hardly honorable, but I would never have held it against you--"

He gave me a wry smile. "Of course you wouldn't have, Watson. And perhaps that is why I felt I must amend the situation all the more."

I tried to find a response to this enigmatic statement, but he cut me off. "Still, it's as you said, my dear Watson. All's well that ends well. And now that the whole despicable business is behind us we can let Lestrade continue to chase after Escott while we apply our time to something a bit more substantial."

A sudden thought crossed my mind. "Holmes--in all honesty, do you think Lestrade didn't have any doubt?"

He stilled, and stared into space for a moment, before smiling. "I confess I have never seen him so eager to abandon a theory, Watson. But I believe he felt that the evidence no longer pointed to us, which entirely justified his motives in seeking the culprit elsewhere. He may not be the most intelligent of men--but he is not stupid, either, Watson. He is most certainly not." He paused. "Well, most of the time, anyway."

I rolled my eyes and turned to my desk, where I began writing once more. There was a long period of silence, during which Holmes smoked quietly in his chair and I continued writing my account. Eventually, however, I couldn't supress a snigger.

"What is it, Watson?"

"Oh, nothing, Holmes."

There was another pause.

"Nothing missing from my toolbox?"

"Watson--"

"Did you _really_ say that, Holmes? I can see why Lestrade was so convinced of our innocence--"

_"Watson_--"

"Sorry, Holmes."

I grinned into my notebook and continued writing.

* * *

_A/N: Well, that's that, folks. I realize that Lestrade's evidence is rather flimsy, but keep in mind that he really _didn't_ want to arrest Holmes and Watson. Sorry for the tongue-in-cheek-ness of some of his evidence, too, but I just couldn't help it XD. Actually, the original plot was going to be a one-shot taking place entirely in Baker Street, in which Lestrade visited constantly and told H & W of his growing suspicions, ending with him coming back and saying "All right, it wasn't you, Holmes. You'd never use that toolbox line." But then I realized that nothing _happened_, and I had to think of something to make it a bit more interesting. Again, sorry for the slowness of the updates, and thanks to all the lovely reviewers :)_


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